


Pretty Barmaids and Evil Witchers

by TinyThoughts



Series: Pretty evil things [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: A witcher and a bard walks into a bar, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Being an Idiot, Geralts scars, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, M/M, Poor Jaskier | Dandelion, Short, flirty barmaid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:26:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23417428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyThoughts/pseuds/TinyThoughts
Summary: The betrayal. Jaskier and Geralt are FRIENDS. He slaps his hands on the table in indignation. How could he do this to him? Jaskier prided himself as one of the few privileged with this information, relayed to him in trust and …. well, threats with scissors, but those stories are HIS. Not some… some barwench flimsily touching his, HIS witcher.Wait.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Pretty evil things [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1685719
Comments: 16
Kudos: 242





	Pretty Barmaids and Evil Witchers

**Author's Note:**

> Idiot ideas craving to get out when I got two other big projects in the working! But here it is! Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~

Jaskier sits at the local tavern.   
It’s their second night there, it’s a decent place. Comfy beds, clean rooms, locals… not unfriendly.

Which is nice, for a change.   
He didn’t even have to sweeten them up with his amazing bard talents to get them a room.

And for once, Geralt didn’t mind sleeping indoors instead of outdoors. Even though it’s a mild, dry autumn night.

Also nice. But weird.

They don’t even have a contract here. Perhaps Geralt worked one previously and was successful? If so, he failed to mention.

Jaskier watches him from his place at their table, which, _for once_ , is not located in the innermost corner against the wall.

All his alarm bells are ringing, but Geralt is calm. Content, one might even say if one knew him.   
Jaskier is pretty damn sure he knows him.   
Or at least he was sure, until now.

Jaskiers eyes narrow, but all Geralt does is talk to the barmaid and puts coins on the counter.   
He can’t hear them talking, but he can hear her laugh.

Wait. Are they flirting?

No, can’t be.

She might be flirting with him but Geralt wouldn't…. Would he?

She is awfully pretty, with big blue eyes, a soft body and a bright smile. Not an ounce of fear from what he can see.

Well, he is glad for Geralt, who now is smiling at her.

Weird.

The witcher grabs the tankards the barmaid poured for them, and with a last smile over his shoulder walks over to Jaskier and hands him one of the tankards.

They have a normal and pleasant conversation, Jaskier doing most of the talking as per usual and Geralt contributing with his usual “ _Hmm”_ s and grunts.

Everything is normal. Suspiciously so.

Jaskier keeps an eye on that barmaid as she walks around the tables, pouring drinks and serving customers.   
Not sure what’s irking him.

When she approaches their table a small flare of irritation blossoms in his chest, and he honestly can’t tell why.

She smiles brightly at them, a little brighter at Geralt, if Jaskier is any judge. “You’re a bard right?” She fixes her blue gaze at Jaskier. “Would you do us the honor of a performance?”

This is not weird. This happens all the time, earning them coins and boons, and so he obliges.

Because this is a normal night, even though nothing is normal about it.

He grabs his lute, sips his drink to sweeten his moneymaker, and starts his performance.

His audience tonight is kind, appreciative and generous. They toss coins at him and send wine and beer to his table.

And that is when Jaskiers eyes return to Geralt.   
His eyes do that, from time to time. It is almost out of his control, but it is his muse and whom many of his best songs are based on so it is reasonable to keep a lookout.

What is not reasonable however, is that bright barmaid sitting in Geralt's lap.   
With Geralt's arms around her.

Jaskier almost drops his lute. That irritation returns, he feels it like a stab, like a burn, like a fucking dagger.

What the hell Geralt?! He never does that? Jaskier knows his witcher, knows his habits concerning this kind of escapades. He is usually more discreet!

This was, if he is honest, more something Jaskier himself would do. So he can’t really judge him. But what the fuck?

He finishes his performance, trying to keep up a pleasant expression.   
It gets increasingly harder as the barmaid leans in against Geralt, pressing her breasts against him in the process, and whispers in his ear.

Jaskier approaches their table and sits down. They barely notice him, her hand stroking over Geralt's chest, pulling at the collar at his tunic.

Jaskier has never seen Geralt allow that, so he just waits for him to pry her hand off.

But he doesn’t.

Jaskier nods at one of the patrons who paid for his drink and sips at it.   
The red colour identifies it as wine, but he can’t taste it.   
He can only feel that uncomfortable churning feeling in his gut as he waits for the pair on the other side on the table to notice him.

When he puts down his drink a little harder than probably necessary (Jaskier is not good at not getting attention) they finally do.

“Oh, hi Jaskier.” Geralt hums at him from behind the barmaids softness. His yellow eyes twinkle in the dim lighting, which is hella weird.   
Is he under some spell? Because that looked like mischief, and that is a look he never saw on Geralt's face before.

“Oh, that’s a big bite Geralt.” Says the barmaid in Geralt's lap. Her fingers are now inside his collar, probing a scar at the side of his neck. “That must have hurt.”

Now, Jaskier is well versed in Geralts scars, and how to get him to talk about those he was not there to witness.   
It is not easy to coax it out of him. She will get a grunt, or a “ _Hmm_.” if he’s generous. (A “ _Fuck off, bard_.” if he woke up on the wrong side of the bedroll. Which is more often than not.)

He smiles into his drink in anticipation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, I passed right out from that one. A striga took a chunk out of me as she turned back to a human.”

What the actual _fuck_.

Jaskier had to DRAG that from his evil, traitorous, selfish lips that would not share a thing if not threatened with getting his hair cut off!   
The betrayal.   
Jaskier and Geralt are FRIENDS.

He slaps his hands on the table in indignation.

How could he do this to him?  
Jaskier prided himself as one of the few privileged with this information, relayed to him in trust and …. well, threats with scissors, but those stories are HIS.   
Not some… some barwench flimsily touching his, HIS witcher.

And that puts a halt on all thoughts for a while.

Geralt is not his. Not like that.   
Even though the thought MIGHT have crossed his mind a few times (a day), there is nothing like that between them.

He studies the wooden veins in the table, tracking them absently with his finger, lost in thought.   
He barely registers their continued conversation.

When he snaps out of it, Geralt’s eyes are on him.

“You okey Jaskier?”

“Hmm.” Jaskier finds himself grumbling before he can stop himself, but nods yes. “Uh, yes, yes, I'm fine. Just… tired. Might go up to our room soon.” he grumbles.

This is jealousy he realizes. And that’s not good.

Because that means HE wants to be the one in that muscular lap.

Damnit.

The antidote for this normally would be to find some handsome bloke or… a pretty barmaid.   
And with a barmaid on display like that he is very much not up for it.

“Im… Yeah, I'm just gonna go to our room.” Dropping _our_ room makes him feel just a little better.   
With a tiny (tiny) spark of hope he looks at Geralt.

“You coming?”

But Geralt, damn that evil bloody witcher, just pats the bright barmaids bum (she fucking _giggles_!) and shakes his head.

“I’ll stay here for a while longer.”

Jaskier tries so hard not to show his jealousy, trying not to glare at the offending, boobwearing monster that put his claws in Geralt, nods, and walks off to the stairs.

Definitely not pouting.

~~*~~

When Jaskier is well out of sight, the barmaid Bella, as her name is, sighs and shakes her head.

“That poor boy.” She says, looking back at the stairs. “Well, as nice as it was seeing you again Geralt, but I really must get back to work.”

Geralt releases Bella from his arms and she gets up, patting down her dress to straighten nonexistent wrinkles.

She snorts suddenly.

“His face when you told me about your scar!” she smirked. “He will be pouting for days.”

“Counting on it.” Geralt smirked back. “But maybe that will teach him not to bring his conquest of the night to the table.”

Bella studies him as she reaches for the empty tankards.

“Or, you know, you could just tell him you want to fuck him over the table. Because clearly I was only here to make him jealous.”

Geralt is a very, very controlled man.   
He does not blush. He does not splutter.

He does not appreciate it when someone (other than Jaskier) can read him.

Geralt splutters. And blushes furiously.

**Author's Note:**

> ~ I would love to hear your thoughts! ~  
> Come say hi on tumbler!  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/dapandapod


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